Sons of Strife
by Bekatfela
Summary: In Nibelheim, life came cheap and death came free. It was a frontier of a war that had been going on for time immemorial - between the nightmares in the dark, and the descendants of the mountain-dwelling Nomads driven out by them. Shin'Ra tried to invade, failed: the Sons of Strife would not fail to strike back. VERY AU, slow updates.
1. All things Shiny and Golden

General Disclaimer: there's no profit motive behind this, I own nothing except the OC's bound to turn up somewhere along the line, and this is produced for entertainment purposes only. On a side-note, there's a fair bit of back-story to this one, so it might - just might - turn into a full-fledged story at some point. I'm getting there. Slowly :D

It's the hair that catches his attention first. The golden spikes defy gravity, fluffed up like a chocobo's crest with _attitude_. With every movement, the sunlight hits it and it almost seems to _shimmer_.

Zack likes glittery things, and he kinda hoards anything he can get his hands on – has done since he was a kid and he found a rare silver-gold Touch Me. It's gotten him into trouble – and lots of it – but it's a habit he hasn't been able to break. Maybe it's connected to the trauma of being turned into a frog, some long repressed irrational fear.

Zack doesn't care enough to investigate, because if nothing else it makes life more interesting, and isn't entirely sure that he wants to know the answer.

That's what actually makes him drift into the training hall, though he's careful not to eyeball the blonde specifically. The Cadets don't really notice him at first – with the sergeant at the front demonstrating moves he's not surprised. The guy's a task-master, with all the personality of a broken record, and takes a maniacal glee from assigning toilet cleaning duties. But, if you have the patience and spine to grit your teeth and _endure_ , damn does he know his swordsmanship.

When the demo finishes up, he exchanges a nod with the man, and it's then that the Cadets notice him. Several freeze up, a couple even drop their weapons. But that's fairly normal; the kids've only seen SOLDIER from a distance, and most definitely would never have met a First Class before now.

Most of them, he knows from his own trainee days, would have a fair heap of hero worship for them too. Maybe not for him specifically – that was more Gen's, Geal's and Seph's arena – but certainly for the concept of First Class, elite of the elite.

He gives them a friendly grin, and starts chatting with Mallory – interrupted only by Mallory's shout for the 'little-twits to fucking start _hitting eachother_ dammit, what are you, princesses!?' – and gradually the Cadets start to fumble their nervous way through the Kata the Sergeant had just been demonstrating.

"You mind if I take a look 'round, Mall?"

The man's eye twitches, but that's as much of a reaction as he get's out of him.

"Go on, hedgehog. Both know you'll do it _anyway_." Come's the resigned reply.

He can't help the grin, claps the man on the back as he starts to circle through the sparring Cadets. More than half of them muck up just as he's passing, but he knows that's more nervousness than actual lack of co-ordination.

They relax a little bit as he gives advice here and there – corrects a stance, demonstrates how to hold the sword just a little higher or block just a little lower, and some of the boys even seem to be able to ignore him after he's gone round a couple of times.

Out of the corner of his eye, he actually takes the time to study the Cadet. Maybe fifteen, sixteen. He's slight – with a slim, compact build. Agile, quick. Chocobo-head will never be huge and muscle bound. But in SOLDIER, that doesn't really matter – what physical form held back, MAKO could improve. Just look at Gen, or Seph. Aesthetically, neither were moving mountains, but with their sheer strength and speed, it was actually something of an advantage to have an inborn predilection to being fast and agile in a fight.

He could attest to that with bruises and burns, despite his First Class promotion a few months ago.

The boy practices with a single-minded focus, and there's a flow to his movements that just _screams_ prior experience, not matter how slow and cumbersome the Kata itself seems to be. Maybe not with a broadsword, because sometimes the Cadet over-extends before he can check himself, or moves too far forward. But that's not all that catches his attention now he's looking.

Unlike the other Cadets, Chocobo-head just doesn't seem to register him as a distraction. Oh the kid knows he's there – even automatically shifts out of the way when he walks back a bit to give the another pair some space as he observes. But Chocobo-head's rhythm doesn't even stutter when Zack walks past him, and studies the blonde's partner, who suddenly seems prone to clumsiness.

"Not bad!" He praises with a grin. Considering this is their first try, and the audience. "You've kinda got your foot stuck at the wrong angle, though." The boys stop trading blows as he walks into the black haired kid's personal space, and gently nudges the back-foot into a position slightly further back and straighter. "The reason the stance is like that is for stability, see?"

From the shell-shocked look in the kid's eyes, he could say that the sky was purple and Bahumet wore make-up - and the Cadet wouldn't even register it, just nod a little dumbly like he is now.

He draws the broadsword on his back, and inwardly shrugs off how the Cadets seem to stop even pretending to pay attention to the Kata's. It's just a standard SOLDIER broadsword, nothing fancy, but it also weighs more than your average man. To the Cadets, it's probably like he's walking around with half a pylon on his back.

More interesting is how Chocobo-head seems to reflexively tense, stance shifting back subtly to give maximum range of movement - ready to move at a seconds notice.

"Spiky, come at me with a high strike." He orders with a grin to soften the tone. The blonde looks at him a little doubtfully, but that's nothing compared to the stunned reaction of the other Cadets, or the one he expected. "Don't be afraid to put some force into it either, yeah?"

"If you are certain, Sir?" The voice is surprisingly soft, and deep for a kid his age. The rough accent is also thick – thicker than Zack's Gongangan had been when he'd first arrived in Midgar, even. He almost winces in sympathy – Gaia, Spiky must be teased mercilessly for that alone.

"It's fine, Spiky." He encourages. "I'm only gonna be blocking."

Chocobo-head seems to consider this for a moment, before making a movement so small it's almost the beginnings of a shrug.

That's all the warning he get's before the Cadet is suddenly lunging forward – just slightly _too forward_ , to be practical for a longsword - twisting his body just so, and then there's a sword heading for his head fast enough to rival a Second's practice swing.

It's not fast enough to catch Zack out – he's not First for nothing – but Gaia does the speed and force behind the blow catch him unawares for a second. He catches the practice blade in a one handed high block, and has to concentrate not to automatically shift his stance in preparation to block another blow.

It actually feels unexpectedly irritating to not be in the right stance. He's bent a little backwards from where he's caught the blade at the perfect spot – provided you were centred correctly.

Ignoring the wide-eyed look to them, and putting aside Spiky's unexpected speed for the moment, he addresses the room at large.

"You see, when you're not in the right stance you're actually unbalanced. All it would take is a particularly hard blow, an opponent that's taller or stronger than you, and you'll get knocked back because your centre's off." He disengages, and notes how fluid the movement is when Spiky draws back. It's only ruined by how unwieldy the Cadet seems to find the practice sword.

Definitely previous training.

Mallory throws him a sharp look as the Cadets start to chatter, not realising that his keen ears can pick up it all, but the guy's definitely more interested in the blonde than he had been before. Small wonder – when doing the Kata there'd been flow to the movements, but the Kata itself had been off. Obviously new to the Kid. It hadn't made Spiky seem particularly skilled, at least.

Now the kid was striking in a technique that obviously _wasn't_ , and the difference it made was phenomenal.

The blonde arched a silent eyebrow at him in question, something that made him smile before he could catch it – because damn, did that remind him of Seph – and he nodded.

"Ok, and again Spiky."

The Cadet explodes from stillness into motion, and this time he's prepared enough to study it even as he moves to block. The speed is definitely from experience: there's no lag, like when most learner's fight. That lag where the kids're _thinking_ about moving, consciously applying the technique, rather than just instinctively _moving_ with an awareness of technique. He's making best use of that wiry, surprising strength and natural speed.

Also, the kid twists his whole body into the blow, channelling not just the strength of his arms and shoulders, but his back and from forward momentum too because he just can't seem to resist stepping forward a little when he does it.

This time, it's not too far forward for a long-sword, and this strike is actually harder than the last one too – because it's taking better advantage of the weight of the practice sword. He's not surprised to see satisfaction in the kid's eyes when they disengage again, because if he can feel the difference then Chocobo-head can too.

"Good one, spiky." He praises genuinely, the grin stretching from ear to ear. Damn, kid's not just experienced – he's actively picking up and correcting flaws. "Do you see how this stance is more stable? I'm blocking but I'm not being pushed out of balance. This'll work against stronger opponents better, too." The class nod at him, and he's happy to see the glazed looks have actually been replaced by intent focus for most. " I'm even in a stronger position to put more force into a riposte or attack."

Spiky waits patiently for him to start withdrawing before pulling back, but the sword is kept upright and ready to guard – seemingly out of habit – stance neutral but easy to shift to either attack or defence.

"Easier to understand when it's seen, right?" He verbally reassures the black haired kid, and is more than happy to actually see a thoughtful look on his face. "You just have to practice and you'll find yourself doing it naturally."

The Cadet nods with renewed determination, and Zack's grinning as he turns away to patrol the class a couple of times more. Because that seed of unholy fire in a Cadet's eyes? That's the kind of stubborn, bull-headed determination that makes a SOLDIER.

But, he can't help thinking even as he walks out the door and takes in the class in a last glance, that Blonde was a shoe-in already if half of what he'd read from the kid was accurate.

So it's with a mental note on the name 'Strife' that he leaves, a bounce in his step.


	2. Portents

"Feet off, Zack." Sephiroth repressed the urge to sigh as Angeal's canine infant – pardon, SOLDIER Puppy – decided that his desk was the perfect foot-stall. Zack was chittering away at something approaching a fast gallop – unfortunately, his default setting – and had been from the moment his office door had been dramatically flung open.

The dark haired First didn't even look at his feet or break his flow, just inserted a quick-

-"sorry, Seph"-

\- between sentences and dropped his feet down.

He attempted to focus on the same report he'd been staring at since Zack's third paragraph – roughly when the First would hit his second conversational wind, usually – and attempted to scan through the three pages of blabber whilst filtering out Zack's.

 _…_ _regular trooper contingent with an escort of SOLDIERs… requisition enough supplies for the trip and three consecutive days after… after which shore leave would be granted to most but some would be used to supervise and facilitate transport of scientific materials-_

Well, that wasn't a good sign. Sephiroth carefully highlighted it and stuck a tag on the page. That was the first black mark he'd found so far against the request, but he was certain he'd find more.

"And you know, it was really cool to be able to spar with 'Geal, today, because he's usually too busy with official things like paperwork to even talk." Sephiroth had to restrain the urge to twitch, dearly wishing that he had Seal equipped on his bracer or Masamune in his hand instead of a tortoise-shell ball-point.

Even Zack wasn't oblivious enough to motor-mouth when the dai-Katana was to hand.

"Be that as it may, as you seem determined to interrupt the process for me, why did you not visit _this_ – "He searched for an appropriate word, coming up blank."-on your mentor anyway?"

Angeal, at least, had signed up to be a willing victim - simply by agreeing to teach the hyperactive man.

"Nah, he said I'd already worn out my quota for the day in morning training." Zack continued, oblivious. This seemed to have the unforeseen effect of silencing the man for a more than three seconds.

Sephiroth, however, didn't dare allow himself to hope. And It turned out he was right not to.

Halfway through another paragraph, the buzz started up again.

"Speaking of training, I stumbled across some of the Cadet's in Swordsmanship, in the small hall."

"The hall is booked for the Cadets on Thursday afternoons for this purpose, yes." He replied, when it seemed like a response was being waited for.

 _Additional request for three units – preferably Second or up - to be deployed to Junon to deal with a rising monster population in addition._ Hmm, no he wasn't buying it. Junon was one of the most monster free towns on the continent, thanks to the SOLDIER orientation program.

Who had submitted the request…? Name, name… ah, Heidigger.

After some consideration, both the paragraph and the name were highlighted and tagged.

"Yeah, I know, but it wasn't that Seph. Y'know Mallory's an old grouch but really, really good for someone who never made it to SOLDIER, right?" He nodded absently, conceding the point somewhat. "Well, there's this blond haired kid in his class, and he's good. Like, really, really good for a Cadet. He shifts his weight right, blocks and strikes on instinct, got the stance down perfect and everything. And it's only their third lesson with a practice one, you know?"

No he didn't, Sephiroth thought, and he had had no desire to. Not, he reflected as he gave up on focussing under the barrage to actually listen with half an ear, that this would have any bearing on the conversation.

"The kid's not just a natural, he's experienced Seph. I mean he was clumsy with the Kata, but I think that was because he's used to smaller, shorter weapons. Short-swords or daggers or something."

"It is not an irregular occurrence for the children of mercenaries or travellers to apply for SOLDIER or the general army as a steady source of income. " He looked up, and was treated to a rambling Zack cutting off mid-sentence, almost blinking at him, and thoroughly nonplussed.

Typical – the Puppy had been vying for his attention hard enough that he was unable to concentrate on anything else, and when he had it, _Zack had shut up?_

There might have been something of that on his countenance, because the Puppy started talking again with a jolt.

"Really?" Zack frowned thoughtfully. "I can remember most of the people in my Cadet class not being able to make the cut, and we were all newbies. I think the whole year was."

"Granted the numbers of experienced applicants went down when the tensions with Wutai started, and the SOLDIER programme became more heavily publicised, but it's not unheard of."

Rather, the number didn't go down as much as get swamped by star-struck children flocking to the banner to be just like their _heroes_. The public relations department, he often thought, was a singularly cruel and entirely too effective part of Shin'Ra.

Come here to gain honour? To win glory?

He nearly scowled at the thought. There was very little glory or _honour_ in war, let alone in being science experiments by choice. Angeal and Zack may have dreamed it, but with Shin'Ra that was all it was. A dream.

Orders were orders, and while they may not have had a direct negative impact as a unit, the company secrets they were used to clean up after most definitely _did_.

For once, he was almost grateful as Zacks inane chatter washed over the morose thoughts.

"-maybe the son a traveller then? He's got the _thickest_ accent you've ever heard."

How, precisely, Zack knew what accents Sephiroth had heard, would forever remain a mystery he was sure.

"Huh, that actually sounds about right, you know. 'Cause if you were travelling you'd want to travel light, and shorter weapons would certainly be easier to carry long distance… "

Sephiroth would later look on this moment, and curse. Because, there was a slight sense of impending _something_ , a change in the air, and Zacks expression transformed from thoughtful to a blinding grin. It was a grin that had often seen prank wars with the Turk's as a result.

It was Zack's Determined Face, melded with a sense of mischief that made anything with survival instincts shudder.

Sephiroth would blame distraction for not recognising it immediately.

"Hey Seph, could you do me a favour? Just look up his profile, please?"

And so he did.


	3. Meandering through Midnight

_In… out…in…out…_

It was an effort to ignore how every repeat pulled in humid, torrid air that stank of metal, acid and the bitter, organic smog that was Middanger's alone. How it was missing the sharp, almost refreshing bite of winter and his breath didn't mist.

The scree bit through the fabric of his thin uniform at the knees as he pushed himself up, but it was almost a relief to feel something as simple and familiar as sharp rock.

Because this place was not.

 _One-two-three-four- a smooth rise from sitting to standing, arm to the side and hold-_

Middanger was _loud_. It was a stampede of colour, noise, people, words, objects, scents. Even at night, it was a frantic place: screaming with machines and voices, monster and human. Nowhere was the stillness that every child learned to treasure in the mounts.

It was also painfully unnatural; even as he was attempting to take his mind from it, his eyes caught on the neon lights made the city a patchwork of cold fluorescence and cave-dark shadow, metal struts gleaming and grey paving reflecting dully. Even from the roof of the barracks, the moon was almost drowned out, the familiar stars missing entirely.

The slum-folk, living in their cage of steel and duracrete, would not be lucky enough to see even that, to breath air that had not been recycled.

He knew better than to try and redirect his gaze: it was no better on the ground than it was above or below. The traffic was like the lifeblood of a man-made beast, jerking in fits and starts across an impossibly tangled path. Devoid of any tree or brush, it was flat, rectangular and grey, breathing in a rhythm that wasn't natural to any forest.

Even through the familiar burn of muscles as he worked his way through the Katas, he couldn't ignore it fully. Couldn't help his hand twitching to his knife with every new, inhuman wail of industry.

 _Kick-step-punch-turn-_

He'd been as tense as a cornered Wolf on arriving in this odd place, headache a constant presence and instincts screaming danger at every corner. The only place he'd ever found such a roar of noise and scent, so many bodies, was in battle.

He'd made his way to the Shin'Ra recruitment centre tensed for attack, and by the time he'd gotten there, had been close to gutting the first person who dared to even touch. The stream of cadets – so much like a pack of scavengers – who had mobbed the recruiters desk, and consequently _him_ , didn't realise how close to death they'd been at the time, and likely still didn't.

After all, he'd had some small chance to adjust when they'd been bundled into the trucks two days later, and been off-loaded at the main building. And since then, he'd kept a close watch on his own reactions as much as for attacks.

But sometimes, the four walls would seem to close in on him, and the grey would seem to paint everything. It wasn't caused by fear, or worry, or any lack of sleep: after all, you quickly learnt to remain focused and quick-witted, to rest with both eyes open and a weapon to hand during the Hunts for the _Gisis'Hrim_. And even in the settlement, it was a fool who slept deeply and well.

It was a soul-deep need to escape – to _breath_.

Not, he noted as he slid to a natural stop after the last kick, that it made much difference to be _outside_ , but at least it was at least enough to settle his instincts. To escape the confinement.

His eyes snapped open as a howl – a canid, communicating with a call he recognised as _danger-warning_ with the few scant days of studying the creature population he'd managed to snatch between training – ricocheted through what little peace Middanger could lay claim to.

He didn't need to turn to know where it came from: Sector seven. Instead, he started the stretches needed for a proper cool-down.

A construction zone? Perhaps on the surface. In the shadows, and away from Shin'Ra's greedy eyes, it was one of the rare pieces of slums to see anything resembling the natural sky, riddled with holes and faults, and held together by prayers to whatever creatures Middangar's denizens saw fit to worship.

Not science, he hoped. Surely it was Science that had created this Gods-forsaken spawn-pit in the first place, with Shin'Ra taking full advantage of the ignorance.

After all, it was what the company seemed to do best.

 _A wolf's tooth is a wolf's tooth_. He acknowledged, almost able to see the exact path it had taken to get this far.

But the people of this place were rarely so practical to see anything as it truly was. They would probably argue that science had made it possible, but that science would make it better; after all, hadn't it made it better already? Weren't Shin'Ra keeping the lights on, and the water pumping?

Halfway through a stretch, he spat his disgust at the mere thought. Half from the desire that the action could purge how nauseatingly rote the response had been the first time he'd questioned the city's state.

Still, it wasn't just Middanger itself that had kept him restless enough to need to burn energy in the witching hour.

He straightened from the cool down, and spared a glance to the small moon that graced the sky, the familiar thrill of a Hunt shooting through him as the thought of who else would be studying it.

Absently, he wondered if Dadgar knew what he was walking into.

Still, he supposed, it did not matter. The Hunter would likely adapt quicker than he himself had, and then… He couldn't help grinning in anticipation.

Well, the huntsman had always been keen on showing Shin'Ra exactly _why_ they had never been able to establish any kind of permanent presence in Nibelheim.


	4. Ground Zero

The cadets get missions like any other arm of the infantry. Usually not the hard stuff, because the whole point of being a Cadet is to _learn_ , which isn't helped by killing the kids off before they've even taken the test because they've bitten off more than they can chew.

It tends to be guard shifts, patrols, maybe a few low level monsters like Deen-glows to a good group. Spiky's on the former at the moment, patrolling the base of tower and on a route which spirals out to a bit more of the Sector 0 outbuildings. It's one of the safest shifts there is; after all, green cadets aren't the only defence Shin'Ra's plot has, so it's usually only small things like Razorweeds that slip the nets.

It's also one of the most boring shifts a cadet ever _had_ to work. One of the biggest dangers he'd ever faced on it was being caught loitering, or – _gasp, the horror -_ playing SOLDIER vs Ninja with Bram to pass the time. Man, Sergeant Gilm had had a shout to deafen a Behemoth, and nothing had worked the guy up more than _immaturity_.

Why the guy had been teaching Cadets – maybe thirteen to sixteen, max – Zack would never understand.

It was for these reasons that he was heading down to the base in a jog. Cadet's were usually assigned in pairs, and this route only really ever got two cadets assigned at once. From there, it wasn't unusual for them to split so they could cover more ground in less time.

In short, it was the perfect time to catch Spiky alone, and talk to him without antagonising the other Cadets.

Angeal had also given him the afternoon off, apparently for paperwork, which made this too good an opportunity to pass up. Paperwork was more boring than the patrol he was about to crash.

Speaking of, there was a familiar Chocobo's ruff emerging from behind a pile of metal.

"Hey Spiky." He greeted, slowing down to a walk as the Cadet glanced at him, waving a lazy salute even as he jumped from the scrap pile. And behind him… He inwardly sighed. There went his chance to chat.

The cadet behind Spiky wasn't so composed. Startled from looking behind them, the Cadet jumped back into a defensive stance with his rifle raised. Zack raised his hands disarmingly even as he laughed. "Whoa.."

"Sorry, Sir." Eyes widening at his mistake, the kid scrambled into a salute with a back stiff enough that Ma would have been able to use him as an ironing board, rifle dangling. "Won't happen again, Sir!"

"Don't worry too much about it, it means you're actually guarding the place. " He made sure to smile, because damn the Cadet looked ready to snap from the tension. "At ease."

The kid still looked like he was made of straight lines, but at least he wasn't trying to drill through his forehead anymore.

"Michaels, wasn't it?" He made sure his tone was light even as the cadet seemed to flinch back, clearly expecting punishment. "Manning's said you were quick off the mark. Just check your target next time, 'kay?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Enough with the Sir already; you're making me feel like my old man. Name's Zack, you can use it. Honest." He dismissed the oddly horrified look on the kid's face, before turning back to the blonde. "Anyway, I'm springing you from the Patrol shift. You guys'll probably hear in a couple of hours from your Squad leader, but your unit's been assigned to a training mission in Junon. You'll probably want to start packing soon, get anything pressing sorted out."

"Sir?" Michaels gasped, apparently not able to help himself. "But Cadets don't _leave_ Midgar."

He'd gotten similar responses from the other Cadets, when he'd dismissed them from their duties – the ones that had managed to find their voice anyway. Shin'Ra didn't like to let anyone outside the company know that Cadets did more than just live in the Barracks and do tests – and it made a weird kinda sense, really. They weren't just teaching the kids to work on their payroll; they were teaching them techniques, methods and knowledge to make them – if not efficient killing machines - at least halfway skilled.

And only an idiot advertised _exactly_ what kind of training their standing army had, 'cause even if the kids never made it into SOLDIER or the Turks, then that's where most would go.

Zack couldn't help the small frown; there were some things about Shin'Ra he _really_ didn't like. The thought of turning Kid's into killers systematically was one of them. SOLDIER was a dream, something to _protect_ people with when the monsters got too strong or people started messing round where they shouldn't be. Like AVALANCHE.

The standing army was a tool of war, and he's seen enough of that in action to know that they're expendable to Shin'Ra. Wutai had been the thing to cinch First Class for him, and sometimes he feels like the dirtiest man alive for that.

Wholesale slaughter shouldn't do good turns.

"Sure they do, Michaels. We just don't advertise it." He shrugged in response. "How are you gonna survive out there if you've never _been_ out there?"

Michaels didn't seem to know how to respond, but Zack was more caught up in the considering look Spiky was throwing him.

"When do we leave?" Came the quiet question, but there was nothing hesitant about it.

"Dunno, early probably." He shrugged, smile back in place. "But you're officially free from patrol duty."

"Thank you, Sir." Chocobo-head bowed his head briefly, with Michaels echoing the sentiment seconds later.

He grinning before he can help himself, shooing the Cadet's away from him.

That accent just _didn't_ get old.


	5. Of Drunken Dragons

" _No tree beaches the sky: a slumbering wolf will not find prey."_ He ignored the way the trooper by him sighed in annoyance, forcing himself to focus on the words of the familiar chant.

The whirling contraptions they called Helicopters, he had decided, were one of the most uncomfortable, unnatural machines he'd ever been in.

Used to getting where he needed to go on foot, or with the rare Chocobo that survived the winter and monsters combined, he didn't get on well with mechanical transport in general anyway. They didn't move like anything organic, didn't flow with the land, and tended to be deafeningly noisy to boot.

Trucks, he had discovered throughout his training, were a rough ride, with poor suspension and even poorer seating. There'd only been one in Nibelheim, and that usually used for the brief summer supply-runs. But he had been able to predict the bumps and dips in those at least, if only from the feel of how the truck moved and the look of the path they drove on. Cars were designed to be more comfortable, but also made him feel closed in, trapped as any hounded deer: a moving box of metal, fancy gilded cage. Trucks, at least, were more open and usually had the smell of fresh air. Or what passed for it in Middanger.

Bikes were the rare exception: they were the only things that would work in the mounts, most other vehicles too bulky and easy to get stuck in the snow, mud or roots, and not running hot enough to stop themselves freezing once they stopped. They could and often were easily converted to Snow Ski's, and most Hunters knew how to drive one passably whether with wheels or tracks.

The ones here, though, were clunky, heavy machines; designed for speed, yes, but not manoeuvrability. Too big to weave through the forests and clearance too low to take into the mounts.

But a helicopter, the world literally swaying around him without rhyme or reason, was nothing like these. The wind struck it back and forth, clumsy as a fledgling dragon unused to flight. The angle of the floor and the direction of gravity changed more times than he could count, and unlike a boat there was no pattern or tide for him to get used to. To the find the rhythm _with_.

It was horribly like being poisoned, where the world refused to stay still, and he felt his gorge rise as the contraption swooped into a turn. He couldn't close his eyes tighter if he tried, and he was sure that the poor gun he'd been issued was just another tight turn away from shattering under his grip.

" _A wise man has a brother at his back. All things that begin must end, and the end is the birth of another."_ He kept the mantra strong, drawing his mind back away from reality threatening to turn upside down. " _One-eye for knowledge, Harbinger and father of Storms. Breaker of Ice and brother of Gold, chaos given form. Shifter and Silver-tongue, brother of Kings and King of his own. Mother of Magic and Seer of Stars. Beautiful bounty and vengeful wrath. Heart of Fire, Master of the Forge-"_

The chant was a familiar one, working it's way through the God's with a rhythm that eased him. It was chiefly the reason why he had not already succumbed to the indignity of letting his body react as it would.

"Would you stop muttering?!" The sharp protest cut made him still, even as the turn ended. He knew that voice: Herman? Hillman? It was one of the mouthier Cadets in his dorm. "Seriously, you're driving me nuts!"

"Would you rather I were ill?" He bit back before he could help it, control frayed to a fine thread. He was in no state to fight at this moment in time, but that wouldn't stop him trying.

"I don't care, just stop with the damn noise!"

"I will be violently ill if I do not have something to concentrate my mind; be grateful I'm not practicing a Kata." He took comfort from the solid feel of the gun as the Helicopter rocked sharply.

There was a snort to his right.

"You'd go flying into the wall the moment you tried, Strife." With a rustle, the page being turned in corner of his eye. Aki was one of the few who had not joined him even slightly in the ranks of the motion-sick, slouched into the webbed seat with a book and casual air. "Either the storm's bad or the pilot's worse."

Just beyond the normal range of hearing, he heard the pilot's huff even over the roar of the engine and the howl of the wind.

"I think that would be blessing." It was an effort to get the words out against his rebelling stomach. _Calm, calm; snow at peak shines bright, forest pine, the guarding song of wolves –_ "For I would certainly aim to hit it with my head."

Aki grinned, looking completely unbothered. He nearly hated the boy for that.

"That'd help, but I do not want to be explaining that to Griffiths."

"Planet, no." Another agreed.

"Are you seriously talking about how the shrimp can't handle a little bit of flying?" The red-head from another Cadet squad – one he'd seen in training but never really been in close contact with – cut in, incredulous.

"The 'Shrimp' will happily kick you to Wutai the moment he's grounded, you know that right?" One of the others pointed out before he had chance to.

"He can try." He didn't need to turn round to see the grin: he could hear it.

He was about to respond in kind when the Helicopter swayed again, and he found himself cursing the pilot, even if it wasn't the poor man's fault.

Their comfort be damned: they would regret the results of him not doing it more.

" _No tree breaches the sky: the slumbering wolf will not find prey. The wise man has a brother at his back-"_

"Damn it, blondie!"


End file.
